


Episode 71: The Board is Set

by PitoyaPTx



Series: Clan Meso'a [71]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Mandalorian, Mandalorian Clan, Mandalorian Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-16
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:35:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27048832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PitoyaPTx/pseuds/PitoyaPTx
Summary: "Find the Ordo!" ~KouciteshThings aren't looking so good for either party, and where there's lightning there's always thunder not far behind.
Series: Clan Meso'a [71]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1261364
Kudos: 1





	Episode 71: The Board is Set

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry, but this is a long ass episode and there are a lot of names coming at you fast. I promise it's for the best that I frontload this stuff now.   
> ~Pit

Koucitesh dropped to one knee and wailed; Taerh’a knelt down beside her but she was inconsolable. Kore dashed from the room, leaving Kuntz with his head in his hands. Yaun slammed his fist into the table.   
“I don’t know what to tell you!” said the holo Aran, “The ship was empty, picked clean. I couldn’t even find the other two!”   
“That’s unacceptable,” Dedel raged, “This is-”   
“What am I supposed to do?” Aran interrupted, “There were no other ships when I got here, not even the Ordo.”   
“That’s impossible!” Palouta dragged his hands down his face, “The moment their transmission went out, you jumped. You had to have seen something!”   
“Xoto, what is happening?” asked Doaxa, rushing into the room with Nina, Bergundt, and two indigenous men at her heels.   
Teya roused herself from her shock and jogged over to her, taking the Akjah’s hands in hers.   
“It’s happened,” she said, shaking, “It’s happened again!”   
“What’s happened? Xoto-”   
“We’ve been betrayed,” Palouta answered before Yaun could.   
The Nautolan growled and paced away from the table, muttering to himself. Palouta crossed behind the seats to meet him by the window.   
“We should pull all active groups back,” he reasoned, “If they could target Aviila they could target anyone.”   
“We can’t break up our supply chains,” said Dedel, coming to Yaun’s other side, “Xoto, remember what the Ordo said. Zakuul, Hutta, and who knows where else. Have the groups in those sectors investigate.”   
“And if they are discovered? If they are killed? If that is just a trap laid by the Ordo?” Palouta cut the air with his hand, “No, Xoto we cannot risk any more Enad. The Ordo could have been lying to us from the beginning!”   
“But if we do not act we will remain vulnerable,” argued Falkit, now standing behind them, “I agree with Dedel, we need to act! Authorize the Vin’beskaryc-”   
“No,” Palouta shook his head, “That project has been far too costly as it is.”   
“Which is why we keep the supply chains open,” Dedel countered, “Xoto, listen to me-”   
There was a scraping sound from behind them as Koucitesh pulled herself to her feet. Taerh’a dabbed at her face paint, which was smeared down her cheeks in some places, but she pushed his hands away and approached the table. Aran’s holo regarded her.   
“Puk’mot?”   
“Find them,” she ordered a dark snarl twisting her features, “Find the Ordo. Make them pay!”   
Aran hesitated, then turned around to where Yaun and the other Alor were standing.   
“What good would that do?” asked Palouta, “Koucitesh-”   
“Go,” said Yaun with a nod as much directed at Aran as it was at Koucitesh.   
“Le, Alor,” Aran replied, lifting his chin. His image vanished and the room was recast in the orange glow from the torches.   
“To your seats,” Yaun ordered, moving back to his, “and assemble the council. The entire council,” he added when Palouta made to speak.   
Beon’s head was in his hands. Fent punched the wall.   
“Hey!” said Ibri, catching his arm before he did it again, “That’s not going to change anything!”   
“Yeah well it makes me feel better!” he snapped.   
“She was alive!” Beon said into his hands. He leaned back in the chair, hands still pressed over his face. He felt like shouting, like crying, like...something. Anything other than sitting there with the thought that he’d been moments away from rescuing her, from finding her alive and well. His mind roamed back to the blood covered viewport and dark thoughts took hold of him. They’d poisoned her, but what else had they done? The thought made him far angrier than he’d ever felt before. Had Lyse not had both of her hands on his shoulders, he might have been on the first shuttle to-  
“Wait,” he said, removing his hands, “Jiik. Jiik might know where the Meso’a are.”   
“Like hell he does,” Fent growled, “This is the second time, the second time Beon!”   
“Second?” asked Ibri, assessing the damage to the medbay wall.   
“The second time he’s omitted information that got someone killed!”   
Ibri raised an eyebrow, “Second?” She scoffed, “You boys don’t know him that well then.”  
Fent paced away from the wall and slammed his right fist into his left palm.   
“I know we don’t, none of us do!” he snarled, “He’s-”   
“Kept a lot, even from you,” Ibri interrupted, taking him by the shoulders and holding him still, “So I’m telling you again, this isn’t going to help.”   
Lyse rubbed Beon’s shoulders. “She’s probably right. Why don’t we go talk to him?”   
“What’s he going to say?” Teika shook his head disapprovingly, “What’s he going to tell us he wouldn’t tell his own son?”   
“Oh he’s going to tell us,” said Fent, pulling away from Ibri with a murderous look on his face, “He’s going to tell us everything.”   
There was a labored sigh from the hallway. The five looked back to see Jiik standing there, arms at his sides with an expression that was hard to read.   
Fent pushed past Teika into the hall and jammed a finger into Jiik’s breastplate.   
“We trusted you, all of us, and now Cara’s dead! Jecho’s dead, and for what?” he began, feeling his temper surpass boiling point, “Cara lost her father because of you! She ended up with Meso’a because of you and they killed her! You-you-”   
Jiik stood there, eyes unfocussed as Fent laid into him. At his size and stature, Fent’s jabs into his breastplate didn’t even make the Togruta flinch.   
“How could you-”   
“Enough,” Jiik pushed Fent’s hand away. He sighed, a weariness taking hold of him, “You can’t tell me anything I haven’t told myself.”   
Fent crossed his arms. Jiik sighed again. Slowly, he moved past Fent and entered the room properly, stopping beside Cara’s casket. He placed a hand on it gingerly.   
“Kad ven’setik,” he muttered, then rubbed the side of his face near his implants, “You’re right,” he looked from Fent to Beon, “You are.”   
Fent grunted; Beon said nothing.   
“But,” Jiik continued, “I always told myself I had a reason. A reason to lie, a reason to keep you all in the dark.” He crossed his arms against his chest, eyes returning to the featureless coffin, “And I want you to know now, Jecho and Cara are just the beginning.”   
Teika grimaced. “What do you mean?”   
Jiik didn’t look back at him when he said, “The Meso’a will do anything to protect themselves, to protect their people, even if it means killing other mando’ade.”   
“And they’ve done this before?” asked Ibri.   
Jiik nodded, “I’ve witnessed it.”   
“When?” Beon asked tentatively. He felt a prickling sensation in his arms.  
Jiik shook his head, then seemed to think otherwise. “In the war, years ago, I saw it happen. Meso’a were there on the battlefield alongside us. Most didn’t recognize them, but I did. I know that fighting style anywhere.”   
“Who did they kill?” asked Fent, his arms once crossed tight now beginning to relax, “Deathwatch?”  
Jiik closed his eyes, “Not only them.”   
Beon swallowed, “Who did they kill, Jiik?”  
Jiik didn’t open his eyes for a moment. When he did, he returned to the casket.   
“Before I tell you,” he began slowly as though it pained him, “You need to know something,” he paused and took a breath, “Cara wasn’t killed by the Meso’a. Neither was Jecho, although I think you’d put that together already-”   
“I hadn’t,” said Lyse, her jaw set as a warning they were entering dangerous territory.   
“Well, they didn’t,” Jiik continued, “Between what Beon and Maceon told me about the ‘Meso’a’ you met, I knew something was wrong.” He looked up at Beon when he said: “That armor was stolen, just like the pectoral you two found on Tatooine.” 

Dedel and Falkit looked at each other before doing as Yaun ordered. Doaxa and Teya took theirs while the Akjah’s entourage took their places behind her. As Yaun and Koucitesh took their seats and Taerh’a returned to his parents’ side in the front row, Yaun punched a few commands into his wrist com. Within five minutes, all ten attendants emerged from the hallway and stood behind their Alor. The Trandoshan sisters, Barsurl and Meiri, lead the group and took their place with Koucitesh. Behind them the broad shouldered Enad and Mirialan, Ci’catl and Xi’tec, followed the outside aisle to Palouta with Ra’ec who’d joined them. Falkit’s attendants, the Nautolan Xocltiab and human Hidresh, brought up the rear with Dedel’s sons, Ochachi and Rauvan. Last to arrive, but from a side room on the left hand side of the chamber, Xal’que and Hunap returned with a Zabrak in white and red armor. Dedel gave him a once over.   
“Madra’gaxan,” He said, “Su cuy, ner’ad.”   
Madra’gaxan gave him a polite raised chin, but said nothing. Dedel frowned, as did H’umm although her face was far darker than her father’s. Midri, however, seemed pleased to see him. She leapt up from the bench and took his hand.   
“Soo cooey!” she whispered, beaming up at him and the dark red tusks on his helmet.   
He pushed the safety release and lifted the front plate of his helmet.   
“Jate tuur, Midri,” he whispered back, crouching and blowing a raspberry into her forehead. She giggled and skipped back to her mother; Madra’gaxan briefly made eye contact with H’umm as he stood, his face shifting from the kind smile to one of disgust. The Chibala turned from him and fussed with her daughter’s dress as though being close to him had made it dirty. Ochachi stood rigid behind his father, but at Madra’gaxan’s appearance, both he and Rauvan glanced his way. Neither face was readable behind their helmets, but the Ka’saak didn’t need to see them to know. He closed his helmet and took his place by the indigenous sisters, arms clasped behind his back.   
It took an hour for the rest of the council to return. Though they were all in the city, most were staying within their tribe’s district, meaning some were farther away than others. In the meantime, Yaun explained the situation to Nasu’sa and Tetli, Doaxa’s husband and son, until the others began to trickle in. Tetli was thirteen now and was wearing a white tunic with a red sash covered in gold glyphs. He had gold bands on his forearms and wrists as well as the traditional jade tiles covering his neck; he wore a comb with a long green plume that sat just above his waist in length. Like his mother, he had bright grey eyes and a strong jaw like a Jiiya. In stature, he was like his father: tall and lean like a runner. Nasu’sa had been a beastmaster, caring for Jiiya with the seaside tribe before he returned to the East to marry Doaxa. He wasn’t Mando’ad and never struck Yaun as ever wanting to be. Despite this, he wore bracers and greaves like the Clan’s under his tunic. His plume was blue and just as long as his son’s, but his featured two gold tusks protruding from his high bun. It wasn’t unlike Ba’atuk’s, though her’s was jade and featured seven tusks. Neither he nor Tetli had any questions, the latter it seemed out of a hesitation rather than that of an understanding.   
Naxic returned first with Baba Vastag and Baba Hoiz from the jungle tribe; the trio were talking amicably about the coming winter as they took their seats. Not so amicable were Baba Dos’haai and Baba Reanat of the seaside tribe who came in arguing about the cantina they’d just come from. Evidently, Reanat didn’t find the “new music of the day” to be quiet to her liking. Ra’ec patted Palouta’s shoulder sympathetically as they came in. Baba Yunqui and Baba Ma’maule of the mountain tribe were right behind them, both holding back their laughter as they listened to the southwestern brethren bicker. Yaun tapped his arm rest irritably until all parties were seated and the chatter died down. He took a deep breath and laced his fingers in front of him.   
“For now,” he began, his voice the calm before a hurricane, “We assume the worst. We plan for the worst. Agreed?”   
“Le Alor,” the assembly replied.   
“Then, you have made the preparations I requested.”   
A round of nods.   
“Good. Then I will hear whom you have nominated.”   
There was shifting around the room as four individuals stood from where they’d been sitting in the benches. Yaun looked to Dedel.   
“My nephew,” the Zabrak said, pointing to the ruddy tan Zabrak with dark markings under his face paint, “Sin’rocha.”   
The young man’s chest swelled importantly. Yaun nodded.   
“Izmatu,” Palouta indicated an Enad with short cropped hair and bright grey eyes, “You won’t find a better scout than her.”   
She smiled slightly.   
“Koucitesh?” Yaun addressed her.   
She looked up at him, then gestured to the Mirialan standing beside Taerh’a.   
“Sere,” she said, “One of my best hunters.”   
Yaun regarded him. There was a wide divot in the bridge of his nose. A story for another time, the Alor thought.   
“Falkit?”   
“Kaz’uak,” said the teal Nautolan, pointing to a male Twi’lek with near-black skin and blue spots dotting his lekku, “I’ve seen him lift a felled tree without assistance.”   
Yaun surveyed them all, noting the status of their armor and their kits before he looked to Doaxa.   
“And you?”   
The Akjah turned to Bergundt and the Ka’briik’alor stepped forward.   
“I’ve brought the head of my hunters, Mix’tlac.” She stepped aside, revealing a tall Chagrian with deep blue skin. He raised his chin to the Alor before stepping back behind the Twi’lek.   
“Kuntz?”   
The Choxultz’alor’s attendant stood and put his hand on the shoulder of a male Enad with strong features, cloudy grey eyes, and a mane of dark brown hair coiled in thick dreadlocks.   
“Oatl. Na Maa’kux.” [He’s (a) Maak’ux].   
“Be Dendona?” Yaun asked.   
Kuntz nodded, “Her eldest.”   
Oatl seemed to stand taller at the mention of his mother.   
“And you, Xoto?” Doaxa asked.   
He paused, then let out a sigh and pushed himself to his feet, walking away from the table back towards the window. He stared out at the city, at the rows of street lamps winking on as night stretched across the day like the shadow of a predator falling on its prey.   
“I’ve met with many,” he began after a moment, “And though he was reluctant to accept-”   
H’umm bit her tongue.   
“-I have chosen Madra’gaxan.”   
Naxic looked up from the datapad he was typing the names into. His eyes found his father’s first, then the tusked helmet of the aforementioned Ka’saak.   
“Your reasoning?” he asked in as even of a tone as he could manage.   
Alor Yaun stepped back from the window. “I could speak to his strength, his cunning, or I could tell you the truth.” He slowly, deliberately surveyed everyone in the room, from Dedel to his right, the assembly before him, to Teya and the Akjah’s entourage. “I have chosen Madra’gaxan because I believe he knows what to look for.” 

“You want me to believe,” Fent clarified as they made their way out of the medical center, “That the Meso’a, some shadowy clan that’s tough or whatever, had enough armor stolen for someone to impersonate them?”  
“I think they took far more than one set of armor,” said Jiik, walking faster than he normally did despite his leg clearly giving him trouble, “That shield you described was phased out almost a century ago, and even then a Meso’a that meets with outsiders knows not to show their true armor or their tribe allegiance.”   
“How would you know that?”   
Jiik stopped at the end of the hall, causing the whole group to halt. He stared down at Fent, straight in the eyes.   
“Because I’m a Meso’a. Always have been, always will be.”   
He strode away, leaving the foursome behind looking as though they’d just discovered a bomb on deck. Fent roused himself first.   
“Wait!” he called after him as he tried to catch up, “But-”   
Jiik shook his head, “Keep up, ner’ad. We don’t have much time.”   
“Time for what?” asked Beon when he, Lyse, and Teika caught up.   
Jiik kept pace but said over his shoulder: “You left the body of a raider with a group pretending to be Meso’a, which means the real Meso’a probably think we have her. And,” he added, moving out of the way for a group running by towards the hangar bay, “what do you think they’re going to do?”   
“They’ll track us down.” Beon swallowed, “We’ll need to prepare. We’ll-”   
Another pair ran by, knocking into Lyse as they did.   
“Sorry!” one of them shouted behind her as she kept going.   
“What the,” Lyse started, but then she heard it.   
“Is that…” but Teika trailed off, hearing what sounded like a hunk of metal in a blender getting closer and closer to the base. 

A ball of billowing smoke made a rough landing on the main landing pad. The ship groaned and sagged, letting loose several bolts, a few sheets of outer plating, and a trail of oil leaking out into a hazy green puddle. The gangplank extended and popped off with a loud, metallic clang as more smoke poured out of the ship proper. Anyone standing near it could see the dim orange glow of an internal fire, and a crew was already running towards it with fire suppressants when the ship’s occupants leapt out and charged away from the smoldering death trap. Jiik made a sound none of them had heard before. He took off towards the slightly charred figures.   
“Ba’buir!” Seru shouted, pushing a medic away and throwing his arms around his grandfather. Anhari was right behind him, out of breath and looking like she’d been set on fire. She let out a cry and thudded against her father-in-law, crushing Seru between them. Jiik let go of his grandson and took her face in his hands, pressing their foreheads together.   
“We’re okay, we’re okay,” she said over and over, half laughing and half crying.   
Tears welled up in the old man’s eyes. He kissed her forehead, then hugged Seru tight. She stepped back and put her hands on her knees, panting but with a smile of pure relief on her face. Her eyes met Fent’s.   
“Ori’vod?” he said, his disbelief making her cackle.   
She nodded, straightened up, and held out her arms. He rant to her and she gave him a hard headbutt before crushing him in a hug.   
“You were worried, vod’ika?” she laughed as she pulled away.   
“We all were,” he gestured back to Beon, Lyse, and Teika, “We just, we didn’t know-”   
She put up a hand, “I know. I didn’t know if we’d make it either, but I’ll tell you everything later. I want to see Tir.” 

It didn’t matter how soot covered she was or how much she and Seru probably needed to be on oxygen, they couldn’t be bothered when they made it up to the comm tower where Tir was waiting for them. He and Talva had just finished at the mess when Jiik called for them. Now, they were both in tears, clinging to Anhari and Seru, Anhari kissing every inch of her son’s face. Jiik sat opposite them on the floor, smiling and chastising Anhari jokingly for not radioing in sooner.   
“Well the only things working were the thrusters, steering cradle, and the landing gear,” she laughed, “Didn’t want to try anything else.”   
“I’m here!” groaned Ibri, hauling two oxygen tanks with attached masks, “Give us a second ad’ike, these two need treatment.”   
Reluctantly, Tir and Talva let go and scooted away so Anhari and Seru could get up. They saddled up next to Jiik, both wiping tears and soot smudges from their faces. Ibri got them hooked up and began assessing their burns. Seru’s would take time to heal, but were mostly on his arms. Anhari had a few on her montril, so she made a mental note to order keratin graphs. She got them settled with the oxygen, then moved away from the group to give them some space, saddling up between her brother and husband and hooking her arms in theirs.   
Beon sat down beside Jiik.   
“I told Aviila,” said the Togruta, smile fading slightly, “That I wouldn’t do anything to put them in danger.” He turned to Beon, “And I mean that. This wasn’t the Meso’a, Beon.”   
The Twi’lek studied his mentor’s face. He knew Jiik meant it, but that didn’t mean he was right about them. Beon needed more proof than that, needed an explanation or a reason for Jiik -if he was a Meso’a- to be among the Ordo. A part of him didn’t even believe it. He took a deep breath, then nodded.   
“Okay,” he said.   
“You’ll tell us, then,” added Fent, still standing by the door, “Everything?”  
Jiik hummed affirmatively, “Everything.”   
“We should wait for Beun,” Teika said, “And Noga’n, although he might have laid down.”   
“I’ll go find him,” Lyse offered, turning back into the hallway. Teika followed.   
“I can go get Beun,” said Beon, making to stand up.   
“Actually,” Fent put up a hand, “I’ll go. I need to talk to her.”   
Beon hesitated, then sat back down, giving Fent a quizzical look. Fent new it was only partially that and partially a warning. “Bad idea,” his eyes seemed to say. Fent gave a dismissive wave, then backed out of the room.


End file.
